Guilt
by sydneygirl90
Summary: The weight of which shall surely crush you.


[i]

Family

Hermione had never planned on having children of her own, ever since she was young. Even though her parents had told her that she would most likely change her mind, she was certain to a fault. And yet, here she sits, two of the most amazing kids she's ever known, and they are hers. She is proud of Rose's tenacity, and of Hugo's innocence. She would always be proud of them, and she loves them dearly.

But….

There is that dreaded word that sneaks into the most content of sentences, changing their meaning altogether. Sometimes Hermione wishes that her children could have the upbringing that she had. Well, before Hogwarts, of course. There are so many aspects of her life that she knows they will never understand. After all, what is a bicycle? And why aren't those photographs moving? And, most importantly, why on earth would chores ever be done by hand when there is disposable magic _everywhere_? Hermione knows that these are trivial details, footnotes of footnotes in the pages of her family's history. Yet, they matter. They matter because the disconnect between her parents and her family is far too wide. They matter because her children beg and plead and implore her to make their visit to their grandparents' home a _different _week. They matter because Harry is the only one who could even remotely understand, and yet he doesn't fully because he has never had loving parents. These little footnotes of footnotes matter because, despite the fact that it changed her life, that it brought her adventure (though at a great cost), ever since her Hogwarts letter arrived, Hermione has grown more and more distant from those who gave her life and loved her so. They are no longer her constant, and they know it.

It is that thought that hurts her the most.

[ii]

Love

Sometimes it is easier for Harry if he just closes his eyes and counts to ten. One, things will be okay. Life gets stressful for everyone, and you just have to take it in stride. Two, what a bollocks thought that was. Life shouldn't have to be like this anymore. The war is over, for fuck's sake. Three, perhaps if you just agree, just let her cool off, then you two will be back to normal. Four, and that would last for what? A Day, two if you're lucky? Five, Hermione would know what to do, what to say. Six, then again, when wouldn't she? Seven, but you can't afford to think that way. More than likely, it's the friendship between you two that has caused Ginny to explode. Eight, and now you wish that, despite the circumstances, you could go back to those woods, back to that tent, back to the old days. Back. Nine, and now you wonder why you always go to that memory. It certainly isn't your happiest, nor is it the most comfortable. Maybe it was because, at that time, you knew that she would not leave you. You knew that she would always be there. Why else would you always, always, always resort to that place? But you know there's no point in asking yourself this. You already know the answer. Ten, Hermione.

You let out a sigh.

Back to one.

[iii]

Regret

Hermione often wonders what would have happened had things turned out differently. What if she had gone with those feelings that she had known to be true for so long? How different would their lives really be? She knows that she wouldn't have her children…at least, not in the form that she knows them now. This, of course, saddens her. But sometimes – only sometimes – she thinks for a brief, fleeting moment about what it would be like to have _his_ children. And then she feels terrible, and she goes on the offensive, blaming herself for these simply awful thoughts.

But….

Hermione knows who she loves. She has always known. This is not what pains her. In fact, there is only one part of this whole scenario that slices her so deeply that she wishes she could blink and start it all over. Yes, she often wonders what would have happened had things turned out differently.

What cuts her to the core is knowing that Harry wonders about it, too.


End file.
